


Blanket Fort Protection

by defenselesswriter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Lives, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, POV Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23554381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defenselesswriter/pseuds/defenselesswriter
Summary: "Just get in the fucking blanket fort, Derek!"
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 419





	Blanket Fort Protection

**Author's Note:**

> a very good friend of mine sent me a post of a screenshot of a text that read "just get in the fucking blanket fort" and all she wrote in the message was "Sterek" and well... i then had to write 2.6k words to attack her for sending me that message. as friends do. enjoy!

Five years after Scott had been bitten is when things in Beacon Hills finally started to calm the fuck down. Even so, the pack still kept up on their patrols and research and pack bonding even. Somehow Scott and Derek made the whole co-alpha thing work, much to Stiles' surprise. However, it was definitely a rough adjustment period for all involved. 

For the first time in his life, Stiles had a group of friends, and he'd even consider them family, but if anyone ever tells Jackson that Stiles thinks of him as family, he will vehemently deny it. And he could deny it. Sure, lying to werewolves isn't the smartest, but Stiles has learned how to do it. Sometimes, he just needs privacy, and if they know every one of his white lies then... then Derek would probably kill him honestly.

Stiles flinches when Derek throws Boyd onto the ground harder than he needed to. "Derbear, chill," Stiles calls out from his seat on the porch of the newly built Hale house.

Derek growls and flashes his red eyes at Stiles, and you know what, scratch that. Derek will _definitely_ kill Stiles. 

Stiles rolls his own because he isn't scared of Derek, not really. And his automatic response to Derek's alpha eyes is definitely not the most appropriate, but no one has called him out on it yet, so as he does with those kinds of problems, he ignores it until it goes away.

Boyd stands up, definitely favoring his left arm instead of his right. He gives Derek one of his long, meaningful looks that Stiles either knows exactly what they mean or has no fucking clue what Boyd is trying to tell him. It seems that Derek understands this meaningful look because he growls at Boyd, who just shakes his head minutely at the alpha. 

After that, Stiles calls it quits on the training session. 

Once the pack has left to their own places to nurse their wounds inflicted by the alpha (Erica has a broken wrist, Isaac a sprained ankle, Boyd a dislocated shoulder, and Jackson a swollen eye), Derek turns on Stiles.

"Why do you always act like you have any authority over _my_ pack?" Derek half yells, half growls. 

Stiles scoffs at him and falls onto the couch. "Because _your_ pack, oh dearest alpha, listens to me. Take it up with them if you have such a huge problem with it."

Derek huffs. "We weren't done training for the day."

" _You_ were," Stiles says as he opens his laptop and focuses his attention on the screen. A minute of silence goes by where Stiles assumes that Derek has accepted defeat. He starts reading through the Satomi pack bestiary and translating it into the Hale's. Derek is quiet long enough that Stiles forgets that they were in the middle of an argument where Derek was so obviously wrong, as he always is, when said alpha slams Stiles' laptop lid shut.

"Do you live here?" Derek asks. "Did you move in without my knowledge?"

Stiles glares at him and slides his fingers out from under his laptop. "I do have a room here."

"Go home, Stiles," Derek growls at him. "Training is apparently over, so what possible reason do you have for still annoying me with your presence?"

Stiles hums and studies Derek for a moment. Over the years, they have become friends as they both have worked together on protecting the pack and pulling each other out of danger. Derek is even known to smile sometimes, but this Derek in front of him is the same one Stiles met when he was sixteen. While Derek learned how to be happy again, Stiles learned the important lesson of knowing when to pick his battles, and this one right here is not one to pick at the moment.

Without another word, Stiles slips his laptop back into his backpack and gets off the couch. He sees something flash across Derek's face as he nears the door, but he already decided to not pick this battle, so he doesn't.

With his back to Derek and his hand on the door, Stiles calls out, "Call me when you're done repressing whatever it is that's going on." Before Derek can respond, Stiles opens the door and closes it behind him. Obviously, Derek could easily catch up to Stiles as he walks to his jeep, but he knows Derek learned a similar lesson a few years back: he doesn't have to pick every single battle.

A couple days go by with no word from Derek, and Stiles hasn't grown out of his anxiety or constant worrying over people he cares about, so he has been keeping tabs on Derek through different pack members. Isaac texted yesterday saying that Derek was cleaning the grout on the kitchen tile with his claws. Erica called last night to tell Stiles that Derek won't touch the Chinese takeout she brought over for dinner even though she _knows_ it's his favorite. Boyd answered a simple, "Yes," when Stiles asked if Derek was still alive earlier this morning, which makes Boyd his new favorite because Jackson's only response was the middle finger emoji. That's not an answer, _Jackson_.

When the sheriff comes home from his shift, Stiles corners him at the kitchen table with a dinner of steak, roasted potatoes, and brussel sprouts (he had to make sure _something_ was healthy at dinner). As soon as his dad sits down, he looks at Stiles with a resigned look. 

"I am going to enjoy this dinner before you tell me whatever you did that will upset me," he instructs, pointing his fork at Stiles for emphasis before taking a bite of steak.

Stiles allows his father to enjoy half of his dinner before he opens his mouth. "I just have one question."

The sheriff groans loudly and dramatically - and people really wonder where Stiles got that from? - before dropping his fork and knife on the table. He settles his forehead into his hand and waves his other hand for Stiles to continue.

"Did Derek show up for his shift today?" Stiles asks.

Slowly, Stiles' dad lifts his head to stare at Stiles with doubt. "Yes," he finally answers as his eyes narrow to study Stiles. 

"That was all I wanted to know," Stiles tells him and starts cutting up his steak, but it's hard to eat when he can _feel_ his dad's eyes on him scrutinizing every detail of Stiles. With a groan, Stiles leans back in his chair and stares at his dad expectantly. "What?"

"Why do you care about my deputy's attendance?" he asks.

Stiles shrugs. "Because you're too soft on him, so if he's slacking I can give him a stern talking to."

"Uh-huh," the sheriff grunts. "I know you have figured out how to lie to your werewolf friends, Stiles, but I raised you, and I know when you're lying."

"Technically, that wasn't a lie," Stiles points out. "You are too soft on Derek."

"The kid deserves a bit of a break, Stiles," his dad argues. "And he is one of my best and most hardworking deputies."

Stiles huffs and picks up his fork to push around his potatoes. "I'm just worried about him, okay? Did he seem off today?"

The man across the table relaxes as their conversation shifts to an actual conversation rather than the interrogation Stiles had set up. Really, Stiles doesn't understand how no one has figured out where he gets a majority of his tactics from. 

"He seemed tense," his dad answers as he stabs a piece of potato. His brussel sprouts are suspiciously left untouched.

Stiles hums to acknowledge his dad's words, but he finishes his plate in silence. As he gets up from the table to rinse his plate, he nods at his dad's plate. "Make sure to finish your brussel sprouts, old man."

And if his dad could have growled, Stiles has no doubt that would have been a moment he would.

Friday night, Stiles nervously walks into Derek's house. It's pack night, and his presence is expected, but he hasn't spoken to Derek all week, so he isn't sure how Derek will react to him.

Turns out, Derek isn't reacting to Stiles at all. Whenever Stiles speaks, Derek either flat out ignores it or responds in as little words as possible and not directly to Stiles. To be fair, everyone else gets similar treatment. 

After everyone finishes dinner, they find a reason to excuse themselves before anyone can suggest a movie as they usually do. Once again, Stiles is the last one left as he finishes up the dishes. He keeps side eyeing Derek's untouched plate before he wraps it up and puts it in the fridge in case he wants it later.

Derek disappeared upstairs once Isaac excused himself, so there really was no reason for Stiles to linger once the kitchen is clean. There's something wrong with Derek, and he knows it. He just can't pinpoint exactly what's wrong. 

Before he can talk himself out of it, Stiles starts pulling cushions off the couches and grabbing blankets from the linen closet. He goes to his designated room and grabs the comforter he loves and the pillows off the bed. It takes a while, and he is genuinely surprised Derek doesn't come yell at him to leave his house, but once he's finished, he's happy with the results.

Stiles goes through and turns off all the lights in the house, starting the dishwasher as he passes it and grabs something out of the freezer. Once it's dark, he crawls into the fort and makes himself comfortable, playing on his phone until he hears footsteps on the stairs.

He can't stop himself from smiling when he hears Derek growling, "Stiles, what are you doing?"

"Cheering you up!" he answers lightly.

"I don't need cheering up," Derek gets out through what sounds like clenched jaws. "I need you to leave me the fuck alone."

For some reason, that is the straw that breaks Stiles' back. "Just get in the fucking blanket fort, Derek!" he yells.

Surprisingly, after a few quiet moments, Derek starts shuffling to the fort. When he pokes his head in, Stiles smiles at him, which earns him a glare. Once Derek is seated at the very edge of the fort, he lifts his eyebrows expectantly. Stiles glares at him instead of giving him a verbal answer because Derek is smart and can figure shit out.

With the most dramatic and heaving sigh, Derek shifts so his back is against the couch like Stiles and his legs are splayed in front of him. He even grabs Stiles' favorite pillow and holds it to his chest.

Stiles rewards him by reaching behind himself and handing Derek a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream (the heathen's favorite) and a spoon. Then he pulls his laptop closer to himself and plays the first episode of Matt Smith's run as the doctor, which is also Derek's favorite doctor and really the man has such poor taste. It's not that Derek's _wrong_. It's that there are better options.

Once the laptop is set down near their feet, Stiles relaxes and takes his own spoon to the now opened container of ice cream. Mint chocolate chip isn't the worst flavor, but as Stiles says, there are better options.

It takes three episodes of _Doctor Who_ for Derek to actually start relaxing. The ice cream is long gone and has been set aside on the towel Stiles thought to bring in ahead of time. 

As the end credits start to roll and Stiles reaches to play the next episode, Derek shifts. Stiles looks over at him, and it looks like Derek is about to talk, so Stiles puts his hand back in his lap. Netflix asks if they're still watching, but neither of them click the answer.

"It's the anniversary of the fire," Derek mumbles without looking at Stiles.

The words hit Stiles hard, but his feelings aren't the ones that matter right now, so instead of saying anything, Stiles leans forward and plays the next episode. When he leans back against the couch again, he rests his arm on the bottom cushions not quite on Derek's shoulders, though.

By the halfway point of the episode, Derek finally relaxes into Stiles' touch and leans against his side. Wordlessly, Stiles starts running his fingers through Derek's hair. When Derek nuzzles Stiles' shoulder, he knows the man is asleep. Carefully, he closes his laptop when his socked foot so he doesn't jostle Derek too much. He's not sure Derek has gotten a lot of sleep this week and is desperate not to wake Derek up.

With one hand, Stiles pulls up his comforter around the both of them and curls into Derek, holding him close. In response, Derek tucks his face into Stiles' neck and clutches his shirt. They've never cuddled, not like this at least. They've been more tactile in recent years, but this feels a bit more intimate than Stiles is used to. He finds that he doesn't mind at all as his head falls onto Derek's and his eyes close.

Stiles wakes up feeling warm, but not in a bad way. He's more comfortable than he remembers ever being and sighs contentedly. Rubbing the back of the person curled into him, he starts to think maybe he'll drift off to sleep again, but then he remembers _who_ is curled into him.

As Stiles' heart rate spikes, Derek shushes him.

"Are you actually awake?" Stiles whispers. "Like you are aware of your current surroundings?"

"Yes," Derek grumbles, and _fuck_ , his morning voice is the cutest sound Stiles has ever heard. "Relax, please."

"So you're not mad about this?" because Stiles can't not ask.

"If I was, would you still be in my house, Stiles?"

"No...?"

"No," Derek confirms. "Are you mad about this?"

"No," Stiles quickly says, not even having to try to lie. 

Derek hums contentedly, his thumb sweeping the skin of Stiles' hip because apparently his shirt has racked up a little. "Thank you," Derek says so quietly that Stiles isn't sure he heard him correctly because to be fair, he has been focused on not popping an inappropriate boner as if he were still a teenager.

"No problem," he squeaks out.

Finally, Derek lifts his head and looks down at Stiles. His face is softer than it has been all week, and something inside Stiles melts. As if Derek could sense that, he smiles a little until his eyebrows furrow slightly and he looks at Stiles as if there is something important to say.

"Can I kiss you?" is the absolute last thing Stiles expected Derek to say.

"Do you want to?" Stiles asks, his brain suddenly moving so slowly even though right now would be a great time for it to pick up the pace and solve the puzzle in front of him.

Derek just nods, his eyes darting down to look at Stiles' lips.

"Oh my god," Stiles says, knowing his words sound a bit freaked out because he is. Doesn't matter. He rushes forward to kiss Derek but ends up knocking their foreheads together. "Fuck!" Stiles groans, his head dropping back down as he rubs his head.

Derek laughs softly, nudging Stiles' hand out of the way with his nose before pressing a soft kiss that takes away all of the pain in Stiles' head. Before Stiles can comment on magic kisses, Derek is cupping his cheek and kissing Stiles' lips. It's chaste and soft and Stiles can't fucking _breathe_ because it's perfect and nothing at all like he imagined. It's so _so_ much better.

"You're never getting rid of me now," Stiles mumbles against Derek's lips.

Derek pulls him closer as he kisses him. Pulling back ever so slightly, he whispers, "Is that a promise?"


End file.
